Into the Mouth of Hell
Standing before the king, the mage Astralus begins with a formality expected of a learned one. “Your majesty, I bring greetings from the White Caps. General Phelonis sends his regards.”
[Note: The White Caps, the guard atop Hell’s Teeth, so called because of their caps and because of the way the “teeth” are capped with white snow all year round. Hell’s Teeth, a ragged ridge of granite separating the known world from the horrors beyond.]
“Phelonis? That wart. What’s he after now, mage? Hell’s Teeth too cold for him? Does he want me to move the sun closer?”
“My lord… Phelonis asks for nothing.”
“And yet he sends you all this way…”
Astralus, forgetting where he is, moves to approach the Throne of the Immortal. He is swiftly cut off as both the King’s Sword and the King’s Shield move to block him, weapons drawn.
“Stand easy,” the king speaks lightly. “I doubt our wizarding friend need be so close to do me harm.”
The honour guard sheath their swords remaining beside the wizard. So long has it been since Astralus attended court that he’s forgotten the protocol. He resolves to remain where he is lest the King’s Sword should become overzealous in his duties and run him through.
“My lord, I come here without the general’s blessing. Indeed, I come here precisely because I do not have his support.”
“No?” The king visibly perks up, sitting forward in his seat. “Well now you have my interest…”
“Your majesty, I come because I need your help.”
“Now really, Astralus, do you think there is any other reason why people come to see me? Do you think I spend my days giving audience to well-wishers who’ve dropped by to say hello? Or tell me how wonderful they think I am?”
Whatever gains Astralus could claim, being something of an exotic figure in the court of King Festus so far from home, they were rapidly diminishing. Whatever interest the king had in Astralus was rapidly evaporating. Astralus felt powerless in the king’s presence. He was not a man used to asking for things.
The king appears to enjoy toying with him, like a cat with a mouse. “Well, come, come. Do you expect me to pull it out of you by force? What could possibly have drawn a gnarled sorcerer like you down from his icy tower to me? Perhaps you want me to declare war on snow?”
Laughter waves around court.
“Ah, eh heh,” Astralus stumbles over his words. “I, er… It is my desire to launch an expedition over the wall, sire. An expedition many miles into the territory. Into the ice caves of the giants, in fact.”
“Ah ha! You are a joker, old wizard! A fine joker! But what a long way to come just to make me laugh. Or are you interested in the position of court jester?” The king’s laughter, unlike his courtiers’, is genuine.
Astralus’s tone grows immediately serious, his face brooding. “It is no joke, my lord.”
The king stands, throwing open his robes and strides towards the mage. “You are aware in the north that we have just seen off a goblin siege? The first of its kind in 500 years. To the south, reports come in daily of orc raiding parties, villagers slaughtered, their homes raised. My commanders at the Beak speak of dark clouds over Nergal’s Palm, thick smoke coiling from the Cursed Earth’s volcanoes…
“Your White Caps neglect to inform us that attacks on scouting parties have increased threefold – yes – and were it not for my loyal subjects in your ranks we would know nothing about it.
“And yet here you are, asking me for troops; safe passage into the wilds beyond the mouth of Hell itself. For what? You do not say. To where? To some place we have only heard of in fables! You seriously expect me to give sanction to this expedition? When your own general does not? You expect me to send men from this Citadel to travel north until they are swallowed whole by giants? I cannot imagine what might be worth signing their death warrants for. And I do not even want to know. Whatever your troubles are, they are your own. If you are not here to aid us in the defence of this realm, then you have wasted your time. I will have a room readied for you. You are welcome to stay a few days, but I expect you to be gone before the Gibbous Moon has risen.”
Astralus looks as if he might plead, but all fight has gone from him. The look in the king’s eye tells him there is nothing he could say. Nothing will convince this man of the urgency of this quest. All hope is lost.
The king slumps back in his throne, and glares at his courtiers until an advisor approaches and speaks softly into his ear. The king straightens in his seat, Astralus dares to hope once more.
“I will not send one single soldier from this Citadel on this quest of yours, wizard, but I will give you something. I have some… heroes in my charge who are of no use to me whatsoever. They were caught pilfering. Trying to steal from this very chamber. Thieves like that could be of great use to you, I dare say. I will leave them in your charge. Do with them what you will. If you wish to take them north with you, so be it. And if you wish to hang them from the nearest tree, that is just as acceptable to me. Just be sure to remove them from my sight and keep them from entering my home again…”
